Pyromania
by Rio Antaris
Summary: yaoi, lime, dark, NCS, 1x2, AU - Duo's new at school and taking a very interesting philosophy course


Pyromania

Pyromania 

By Rio Antaris

Pairing: 1x2

Warnings: Yaoi, angst, NCS, some OOC, told from Duo's POV, lime, some language, AU

Disclaimer: No, I don't own Gundam Wing. *sigh* I can dream, though, right?

This story is meant for entertainment purposes only. Original parts belong to the author. Comments and questions can be sent to: [rios_star@hotmail.com][1]

Day 0 – Death 

I don't know why I'm bothering to go to this class. I've cut every other one so far. I pause to consider this. Shucks, I guess I'll never get into Harvard now, will I? 

Still, Philosophy doesn't sound so bad. And if I skip out on all my learning, they might think I'm sick. Can't have that. Next they'll start thinking that I actually give a fuck. Ah, if only it didn't befall me to be teller of truth. 

Christ. I don't even know if that sentence makes sense. That's what happens when you attend English class two days in a row. I guess Philosophy can't hurt after that. 

"Duo Maxwell?"

I give the man my most brilliant smile. Have to keep up appearances, you know, and it's not his fault he ended up a teacher.

"That's my name, don't wear it out!" I sing, knowing full well how stupid and clichéd that sounded. Maxwell, thy purpose be annoyance. Shit. We're back to the English crap.

"I'm so glad you decided to make an appearance," he says smoothly. "Most new students wouldn't be absent their first two days of class."

Wow. He almost makes it sound as if he actually believes there's a reason behind my 'absences'.

"Better late than never!" I reply, as sickeningly cheerful as ever. God, I love American culture. You can have an entire conversation nowadays without ever saying a word.

"My name is Mr. Chang," he continues, giving me a glance that tells me to cut the crap. "Please take a seat."

He turns away and begins writing something on the board. By now the entire class is staring at me. Well, almost. There's one guy in the back with his head down.

But it's a good thing I'm used to being looked at. Otherwise it might be unnerving. Guess that's what a braid up to your ass and huge violet eyes does to a guy. And the all-black outfit probably doesn't help, either.

I decide to give the spectators a show for their money. I flash them a grin while flashing the middle finger at the teacher's back. Then I saunter over to the back to sit with the guy who had the decency to ignore me.

He looks up at me briefly before averting his gaze. Hmm. Dark brown hair, blue eyes, and looks kinda Asian to me. I give the guy a thorough once-over. Not that I've seen too many Asian brunettes. Maybe this is one of those half-and-half types. I smirk. I always did have a weakness for that stuff, straight out of the carton.

I have to restrain myself from laughing at how lewd that sounded. Yup, boys and girls, sometimes the great pretender laughs for real. 

The teacher turns around. Behind him, written in dark, bold letters is one word: DEATH.

I straighten up from my relaxed stance. "This could get interesting," I mutter. The guy next to me looks up, too, and reads the word with a dismissive glance. 

Mr. Chang clears his throat. "For the next five days we will be discussing death."

I resist the urge to shout out, Duh! 

Mr. Chang keeps talking. "Death is an important part of philosophy, as well as all other areas of thought."

The guy's wearing a white shirt and tan slacks, with black hair pulled back into a tight ponytail, and for all his 'Kiss-Me-I'm-Preppy' appearance, is talking about death like you'd talk about a football game. Gotta say, I'm impressed.

He hands out some packets and tells us to start reading. I sift through them briefly, but I've already read all the works that they're excerpted from. I start to doodle all over the pages; guns, knives, dripping blood. Just your everyday artwork done by your everyday fifteen year old kid. 

I sense someone looking over my shoulder and move to cover my latest masterpiece, but Mr. Chang passes me in favor of that cute guy next to me. Apparently he wasn't attending to his duties either. At least I flipped through pages as I filled them with scrawls. He was staring at he same paragraph for the past half hour. 

"Enjoying yourself, Heero?" Mr. Chang asks in that same, smooth voice. 

Huh. So his name is Heero. Thankfully I've got enough self-control not to start making rather obvious comments. Yes, I do have some self-control. Surprised, ain't ya?

I think Heero was about to say something when the bell rang. Guess I'll just have to come to class tomorrow to hear what he sounds like. Oh, well.

Day 1: the methods 

I file into class with the rest of the pack laborers, once again situating myself in the back with Heero. Mr. Chang enters the room shortly after. He doesn't have any packets with him, but that doesn't mean anything. A guy like him, you don't know what he might be hiding in his file cabinet. Or his closet. The vision of him decked out in a full leather dominatrix ensemble, complete with heels and whip, forces me to restrain myself from laughing again. Damn, never knew school could be so amusing. 

Heero gives me a cursory glance. He's wearing all black today, too. Look mommy, I think I found my soul mate!

Yes, I'm aware of my patheticism. Thank-you for bringing it to my attention.

And yes, I'm aware patheticism isn't a word. 

Mr. Chang clears his throat. I think he does it every time he's about to speak. It's fucking annoying. Maybe I should try it.

"Today, we will be discussing the ways in which people can die. Death can result from almost anything, but there are some methods that we find more frightening than others." He pauses melodramatically and looks around the room. "Would anyone like to share what they think would be the worst way to die?"

"Choking." It's a quiet statement, made right after Mr. Chang stops talking. The blonde kid keeps going. I think his name is Quatre. 

"I'm one of those people who have difficulty swallowing. Sometimes I have nightmares where I'm being choked by a scarf or some other material. Other times," his voice drops in pitch, "there's something large being forced down my throat and I –"

I guess he stops speaking because I start laughing. I know what he said is disturbing to him, but I can't help it. Guess I used up all my self-control earlier. 

Mr. Chang glares at me as I calm down. I meet his gaze unflinchingly with a little smile on my face.

"Mr. Maxwell, would you like to contribute?" he all but growls at me. Interesting. So Mr. Smooth only goes so far. 

I cock my head and bring an index finger to my lips as if I'm some ditz mulling over whether pink or red nail polish was best. His glare gets more intense. Man, it's a good thing looks don't kill, 'cause by now I'd be cremated.

"Fire," I finally answer, nodding my head in emphasis.

"So you think dying in a fire is the worst way to go?" He perches himself on his desk. I know he's trying to get to me. "Care to elaborate?"

"Fire," I repeat calmly, "Because that way, you're already in hell before you even get there."

Some of the other kids laugh uneasily. Mr. Chang frowns and then continues with his lesson. The one that I don't pay any attention to, because Heero is looking at me with a smirk on his face. I bat my eyelashes, then laugh and smile back, earning another glare from Mr. Stick-up-his-ass. Like I give a shit. Right now, I'm feeling pretty proud of myself. Whenever I glance over at Heero, he turns with that same slightly upturned mouth at me. I guess he must've liked what I said. Gotta make a mental note to participate in class more often.

Soon enough, the bell rings, and I head for the courtyard to light up a smoke. Yeah, I know. It's a bad habit. I'm trying to quit. Really. 

Before I can take my second step outside, there's a tug on my braid. My hand reaches for the pocketknife I keep handy inside my leather jacket, then stops as I meet Heero's eyes. 

"What do you want?" I offer as a greeting. 

He smirks, that same smirk from class, only more pronounced. His hands reach for my face as a cigarette and a lighter fall from mine. 

"Do you really want me to answer that?" he asks. It's the first time I've heard him speak. His voice is low and husky, and his mouth is one inch away from mine. I grin, realizing my words could be interpreted as a fairly open invitation. 

"Never did have a care for subtlety," I mutter before crushing my mouth to his. He takes a step back from my assault, but I'm clingier than saran wrap when I wanna be. Our tongues start dueling for dominance, and in the back of my mind I wonder who'd end up on top. Then Heero starts to avidly explore my mouth and take little nips at my lips. I decide to stop thinking for a moment. My hands are tangled in his hair and his are tangled in my shirt. I gasp as a rough palm brushes over a nipple, breaking the kiss. Good thing, too. I was about to pass out from a lack of oxygen. 

Heero releases me. He's not even breathing hard. He gives me another tug on my hair before walking off, leaving me panting and hard.

Well, that was interesting.

That's about all the coherent thought I can produce as I watch Heero's receding form. I think we all know what class I'm attending tomorrow.

Day 2: the killers 

I walk into class two minutes early. Damn Heero. If I'm not careful, I might actually start doing homework. 

All the other students trudge in. Heero enters last. He walks over and sits next to me, in his regular seat, without sparing me a glance. He's only wearing a black shirt today, over a pair of blue ripped jeans. Oh, well. My half-and-half remark comes back into my mind. Heero's still ignoring me. I guess I have to earn his attention all over again. And if I want a drink from the carton, I better make it good. 

Today we're discussing the bringers of death. Everyone's rattling off about their favorite mass murderers and ways to pull of the perfect crime. I can feel my eyes drooping. I didn't sleep much last night, for some odd reason.

However, a voice manages to snap me out of my reverie. 

"Mr. Maxwell?"

I open my eyes and smile at the irate Mr. Chang before me. "Yes?" I say as sweetly as possible. Out of the corner of my eye I can see Heero watching me. Showtime. 

"For someone such as yourself, you seem to be finding today's topic uninteresting."

I almost laugh at that. The guy thinks I'm a Satan worshipper because I happen to have color sense. 

"Don't you have a killer you like to idolize?" he continues. What, is the fact that I have a shrine to Charles Manson in my closet becoming too obvious?

I shrug. Heero's still watching intently. "In my opinion, there's only one real killer."

"What do you mean?" Mr. Chang asks. I think he's waiting for me to make a crack or something. Too bad he doesn't know I'm serious. 

"Shinigami," I reply nonchalantly. "The God of Death. He's the one who decides if you really go or not, if the murder will come off without a hitch or if the victim survives. He's the one who chooses. These other 'killers' are just tools he can employ. He's the cutter of the string, and we can just serve as scissors." I stop myself before I start gesticulating to make my point any clearer.

The rest of the class is silent. Even Mr. Chang seems a bit put off. In fact, the only person who's not, other than me, is Heero. He's smirking at me again. I give myself a mental pat on the back. Who knew learning could be so much fun.

The bell rings, and I dash from the room to the spot where we met last time. He's coming. I'm sure of it.

Yep. There's that tug at the braid again. And you all had your doubts. 

"Hey," I smile.

Heero just grabs me and sticks his tongue in my mouth. I'm not complaining. Making out beats talking any day. Just ask your neighborhood cheerleading squad. Trust me, there's a reason they all sound alike. 

Heero's pushing in deeper now. Remind me to thank God later for not making me suffer with Quatre's affliction. 

I break away, and take in some air. I also place a hand on Heero's arm, in a feeble attempt to stop him from leaving if he wanted to. He's not. He's just standing there, staring at me as I catch my breath.

I rest my forehead against his chest. He's about three inches taller than me, and a helluva lot stronger. 

"Ready to move on?" he asks.

I'm pretty sure I know what he means. You'd think my hard-on would be enough of an answer. Still, the guy deserves some advice before we start.

"I gotta give you a standard warning," I say, slightly muffled by his shirt.

" I'm pretty messed up, you know, and you probably don't wanna get tangled up with someone like me."

"Who said I was going to get tangled?"

Right to the point, I see.

I don't look at him. "Quick romp in the hay, then?" I ask lightly.

He doesn't say anything for a while.

"Maybe," he finally answers. "And maybe if you're as messed up as I am, we'll get tangled up in each other."

I give him a wicked grin. "Well then," I whisper. "Let's go find someplace private."

I pull him along, inside the building and into the equipment room. It's sturdy, with a lock on the inside, and virtually soundproof.

His hands are already tugging down the zipper of my pants. I have a fleeting thought that I never expected my first time to be in a walk-in closet filed with tennis racquets, but I push it aside. 

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, for all my sexual innuendos, I, Duo Maxwell, am a virgin. 

Make that was.

I think somewhere along the line Heero must've realized it. He didn't say anything, though.

But afterwards he gave me a hug and helped me fix my hair before he left.

He ended up on top, in case you were wondering. Can't say I minded.

Day 3: the victims 

** **

Today we talked about the victims of death. Well, I should say they talked about the victims of death. I just stared blankly out the window. I didn't want to say anything. Heero watched me the whole time. I guess I don't have to make an intelligent remark in class anymore to get him to notice me. When the bell rang, he just told me to meet him in the courtyard later.

So here I am. I've been here for a couple of hours. Must've miscalculated when later was. I feel a tug on my braid and move back into Heero's waiting arms. It's dusk, almost evening. We're the only ones out here. I wonder if he wants a repeat performance from yesterday. I'm still sorta sore. It's a good thing I only decided to sit through one class today. Oh, wait. I do that everyday. Silly me.

Heero sits down and leans against a tree, pulling me to sit and lean against him. It's a nice arrangement. It's also weird. I didn't think Heero was the casual touching kind of guy. Casual sex, yeah, but that's different. The silence starts to get annoying. You know me, can't bear to be quiet for long.

"So what's your last name?" I ask conversationally. An odd question to pose the guy you fucked the day before. 

Heero starts to chuckle softly. It sounds eerie coming from him. 

"Yuy," he whispers into my ear. "Heero Yuy."

"Mine's Duo Maxwell, but you probably know that already, courtesy of Mr. Chang." I give a sly grin at the mention of his name. For all my complaining, I actually like him a little. 

On impulse I turn around and offer Heero my hand. "Nice to meet you."

Heero takes my hand in his, and then doesn't let go. Okay. We're back to the silence and casual touching. I start to get fidgety. I don't know why he wanted to meet me, or what he plans on doing. And I don't like what I don't know.

"You're the Duo Maxwell from New York, aren't you?" he asks. He says it as if he already knows the answer.

I narrow my eyes. Ah, the reason behind this little tryst becomes all too clear. Damn, I was hoping that by moving to L.A. I'd leave all that behind. Guess I was wrong. 

New York. I lived in an orphanage in New York. It was pretty sweet deal. They fed you, kept you warm.

There'd been a fire. The place burned down. Everyone inside died. I wasn't inside. Got a little too warm for me. 

Heero's waiting for me to say something. "So did you?" he asks, picking up my braid and twirling it around his fingers.

He certainly is talkative tonight.

"Did I what?" I reply dully. I know what he means. I'm just dragging this out for my own masochistic pleasures.

"Did you start the fire?" 

I turn my head to face him. His mouth is pulled into a half-smile and he seems to be enjoying this.

I try to think of what I should say. Helen's voice comes into my mind. She was the one who took care of me back then. She once told me that the worst crime of all was lying. If you committed every other sin in the book, as long as you were brave enough to admit to them, God would forgive you. 

Not that I believe in any god except Shinigami.

Another voice overrides hers, the one of my old pal Solo. He took care of me before Helen came along. I remember him telling me that it didn't matter how broken you were on the inside, it was how visible the cracks were on the outside that counted. 

I decide on a compromise between my two late beneficiaries. 

I move my mouth a breath away from Heero's and smile sweetly at him.

"Yes," I answer simply, and then stand up, stretching. 

This time I'm the one who walks away. 

Day 4: the spectators 

I'm back in philosophy for the fifth day in arrow. This is becoming fucking habitual. 

Today's topic is witnesses to death. Some students telling some stories of watching a relative kick the bucket. Boring. I spend my time looking at Heero's empty seat. He's not here today.

Mr. Chang doesn't bother me. I guess he's afraid of what I might say. I leave the class feeling empty. I just wasted forty minutes of my precious life.

Oh, get over yourself. Like your life's any better.

I round the corner and head for the tree outside. I feel a sharp tug on my braid and turn around, expecting Heero. Not expecting to have three guys leering at me. I think they're from my English class. Another reason to pick Philosophy. 

"We've missed you," says the tallest. I try to remember his name. Alex. He's got about a foot on me. 

The two smaller friends snicker intelligently behind his back. I eye the yard. It's empty. Everyone's gone home. Duo Maxwell, you are officially knee deep in shit. 

He's fingering my braid.

"Fuck off!" I snarl, twisting out of his grasp. I start running, feet hitting the slippery gravel, hand searching frantically for my knife. As long as I have the knife I'll be fine. Nothing's gonna happen.

I trip, and watch as my one hope of getting out of this mess flies through the air. I think that's when reason leaves me and the fear sets in.

Alex approaches.

"Now, you better play nice," he purrs, straddling my hips. His two goons are holding down my arms and legs. I struggle, but nothing happens. I'm trapped. All the music I've ever heard playing in a scary movie is starting to resonate through my head.

A piece of glass from the pavement is digging into my back. Alex leans over, about to kiss me, and I spit in his face. He sits back and wipes it from his eye.

"Well, I see you've decided to be naughty," he says airily. He motions to his pals. They turn me over. The piece of glass is now cutting into my side. I can feel the blood slowly trickling out.

It's getting cold. I focus on the glass; it's sharp edges as it punctures my skin. Don't cry. Don't scream. Don't let the cracks show. That's what they want you to do. It'll be over soon. 

Too bad I can't tell there are already tears streaming down my face. I might have saved myself the effort.

It starts to hurt too much; it gets too hard to focus. The pounding in my head won't cease. I slide outside, into an endless blue sea where I can't feel a thing. Just float, weightless and numb.

Just float. 

That's not me over there, sprawled on the ground. That's not my blood forming a tiny river. Those aren't my tears; I never cry. I'm over here. That's not me. 

I'm floating. 

I think I'm still crying, though. 

It's dark by the time they leave. Somewhere I can hear a scream as someone finds me. I think it's that blonde kid. Life's ironic, ain't it?

Somebody picks me up, and I feel a prick on my arm as I'm injected with something.

I think I start laughing as I pass out.

Day 5: the afterlife 

I woke up the next morning. It was Saturday. I decided to go to sleep again.

It's Monday now. I'm making my way to Philosophy. Told ya I was getting to be a creature of habit.

They let me out of the hospital yesterday. I've got a bandage around my waist. That's about it. No one came to visit me except some people with questions.I didn't answer any of them. Guess I was feeling uncooperative at the time.

I enter the class and everyone stares at me. Talk about déjà vu. Except this time the quiet boy in the back is staring right along with them. 

I go to sit next to him. He smiles, then looks away. There's a lighter on my desk. I think it's the one I dropped when he first kissed me. 

They're talking about life after death. Heaven, hell, reincarnation, and all that crap. I stay quiet, touching the lighter and moving around in my seat whenever sitting in one position hurt too much. 

Mr. Chang is about to call on me. 

I open my mouth in retaliation, but whatever I was going to say goes unheard as a piercing scream echoes from the hallway.

Everyone runs to investigate. I follow at a milder pace with Heero. 

The screams seem to be coming from in front of the equipment room. I can smell smoke. Students and teachers are running around frantically.

"Alex!"

I turn to see a sobbing girl lunge herself at Mr. Barton, my English teacher.

"Alex, Danny, and Joey are in there!" she cries, pointing at the door of the small room. I can hear muffled thumps as someone inside tries to get out. The teachers try to pry it open, but to no avail. 

The smoke's getting thicker. The wail of sirens is approaching. I look at Heero in disbelief. He smirks at me. I look at the lighter still in my hand. 

I walk outside as we're being evacuated. The entire school is in chaos. As soon as we're out, I start laughing. No one notices in all the commotion. Heero just waits for me to finish, then takes the lighter from me, lights up a cigarette, and puts it in his pocket. 

"So where do you want to move to now?" he asks, placing a hand on my shoulder and taking a puff. 

I put my arm around his waist. "I hear Texas is nice this time of year. And I could go for some steak." 

I take the cigarette from his mouth and flick it onto the ground.

"Bad habit, Heero," I admonish. Heero just pulls me closer.

I watch for a moment as the embers slowly consume the blades of grass surrounding it. 

My arm around Heero tightens and we walk away together.

_OWARI_

Author's note: 

Yay! Here's where I get to ramble! Okay, I know that was weird. Most of my stuff usually is. Anyway, I'd like to say that I do not dislike Wufei. In fact, one of my friends is in love with the guy, so I'd like for people to remember that this is written in Duo's POV and Duo would probably feel that way about any teacher or authority figure in this case.

Also, even though Duo's not exactly the model student here, he's not stupid. In fact, he's a little too smart for his own good. And I wasn't making fun of Quatre. Mostly. All things considered, he's one of my favorite characters. After Duo and Heero. 

As for the whole pyromania thing, I'll leave you to draw your own conclusions.

   [1]: mailto:rios_star@hotmail.com



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